It's happened...I’m officially old. Well, not really. But I am closer to 70 than 30, which used to throw me into a panic. But being in my 50's now seems like a warm shawl in front of a fireplace; comforting and chill. And I like to think, with my progressed age, that I've accumulated some wisdom. Why do I think that? Because I've finally realized there are things that I just don’t (and do) give AF about. As we age, there are some things we straight up stop giving a shit about, trading them out for some new cares.
I used to keep a fairly tight lid on my thoughts and opinions when it came to interacting with strangers or acquaintances. But fuck the appropriate and expected social mannerisms! I’ve seen enough years and memes to know that we’re all more than a little bit out there and awkward. If I tell you your skirt makes you look like a hot mama, I’m not flirting with you. I promise. Just take the compliment and move on.
And not because I"m trying to make some feminist statement, or because I want my nipples showing. But merely because (a) I’m too lazy to put a bra on or (b) I’m going out in the sweatshirt I put on that morning when rolling out of bed or (c) I’ve realized I actually don't have any boobs, so what’s the point in pretending otherwise.
Yes, I try to do it discreetly. It’ll be another 30 years until I reach THAT level of no fucks given. But I no longer will only do it in the car or in a bathroom. Standing in line? Sure. Casually waiting at a crosswalk? OK. I’m assuming I do it rather discreetly, but who knows. Maybe I look like a country girl who came out to play in the city, and forgot all social etiquette. Do I give AF? Not know that I’m an elder 50-something.
While I'm not quite at Meg Ryan ordering status (When Harry Met Sally anyone?) I have developed a certain "I don’t give AF" attitude when it comes to ordering. I ask for no ice or lemon in my water. If my meal comes with veggies I don't like, I'll tell my server to substitute them with something I'd rather eat. I'll change up a standard menu item to suit my tastes. I used to think people like this were obnoxious. Maybe they still are. But frankly, nowadays, I just don’t give a damn.
My eyebrows and those sneaky dark hairs that like to pop out with the consistency of a whack-a-mole on the right hand corner of my mouth. Always the right side. Bastards.
Over the last few years, I’ve taken some serious note of people whose skin condition has aged them up an apparent hundred years. Insert wake up call, as I’m no longer blessed with care-free skin that glows like a pregnant woman with the texture of a baby bottom. I take my coconut oil seriously. And I even routinely apply sunscreen, because I'm never going to srop worshiping the sun and who wants wrinkles? I am now the proud owner of a bathroom fully stocked with exfoliation scrubs, facial masks, and those towelettes. Twenty-two year old me would have never thought of cleaning her face before and after sleeping with disturbing regularity.
I’m not one of those hydration freaks who carries around a gallon of water with them. But I have become more aware of the actual amount of water that I consume. Apparently drinking the daily recommended amount (or even a bit more) of water is good for you. Which I always knew, but now that my mortality is more of a sure thing, I’m making more of an effort. Same with my greens: I really dislike veggies. But with my health in mind and being a responsible 50-something, I now habitually buy spinach and asparagus. And force myself to eat them.
I don’t care what day of the week it is. That’s right, even Friday and Saturday nights. If I can hear you and your friends playing beer pong, your obnoxious music, or having what you think are deep conversations that no one really gives a shit about, I don’t care what day of the damn week it is, I’m vehemently thinking of calling the cops. I’m two steps away from stepping outside and angrily shaking my fist at you. I need my sleep. So start partying at 6:00, and put it to bed by 10:00.
